


King of Catora

by Poet_Anderson



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Friendship, Humor, Slow Burn, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Translation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 07:01:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17421239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poet_Anderson/pseuds/Poet_Anderson
Summary: 17 year old Stace dreams of being king of the country Catora. The old king died seventeen years ago and still there has not been a successor. THe six ministers who "temporarily" rule the country give him seven difficult assignments, if Stace successfully completes the assignments he will become king.A translation of the classic childrens' novel by Jan Terlouw. I do not own this, I simply attempt to give this a bigger audience





	1. The Death of a King, part 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello there! this is a translation of a book written in 1972, which is why the language might be a bit archaic. It's my favorite book and I hope you will like it too.

This history is about the country Catora. It starts in a dark night, seventeen years ago. That night was important for two people in particular. For the king of Catora and for Stace. 

It was the last night for the king. He died. He was eighty years old and tired of ruling. He had been a friendly and kind man. He had always been lucky, even on his deathbed he got his way.  
“When I die,” he had often said, “it has to storm and hail, lightning bolts need to light up the sky and strong bouts of wind need to tear branches off trees. In a warm spring night filled with the scent of flowers and gentle rustling I cannot die, - then I want to walk in the park and watch the swans, or light a great firework.”  
So, when he closed his eyes for ever Wiss, the capital of Catora, experienced the most violent storms of the century. The soul of the king left the old, tired body and was whisked away to places no living being has ever been.

For Stace it was an important night because he was born. His mother clenched her teeth when heavy thunder shook the modest house and Stace cried his first triumphant shout. His eyes were wide open, so the midwife could say: “It’s a boy, and his eyes are blue.”  
It was fortunate for the little Stace he could only eat and sleep, those first days of life, for terrible things happened to him. 

It started with his father, who was a mason. He had been contacted to assist with the restauration of the St. Aloysius, the great cathedral of Wiss. The morning after Stace’s birth a royal messenger arrived. He told that the king was dead and that the man who usually raised the flag had gotten ill the previous night, and if Stace’s father would be so kind to raise the flag on the tower, he needed to go up anyway. The mason had of course slept very little that night. Musing about his son, he misstepped, staggered, and fell to his death from the highest ledge.

They came to tell Stace’s mother at her bed. The poor woman was so shocked that she did not survive her fever and several days later Stace was an orphan.

To come back to the old king, who had no son and no daughter. There was, as is usual in these situations, a lot of squabbling and bickering, until finally six ministers seized power. They assured they would work on a way with which a new king could be appointed. Catora deserved a good king, the best, and so there had to be requirements, and so on and so forth. Of course, nothing came of it. Soon the six ministers were as stuck to their seat as an ear to a head, and they ruled the country.

And because of that the Catorans kept mourning their dead king. Fifty years he had ruled the country and he had been very beloved. A man without much ado, one who didn’t believe in elaborate speeches and big documents, but who mingled with the people and let great fireworks be lit. He loved those so much that he had recorded in the law that it had to happen at least three times a year: on his birthday, on New Year’s eve and once without a reason, simply when he felt like it. Then it was announced on the radio that that day would be Alternative King’s day and that everyone had the day off. The benefit was that on Alternative King’s day the sun was always shining, and you can’t say that about Easter. 

That was all over now. 

Baby Stace of course knew nothing of succession, fever or politics. He look fine, a healthy child, perhaps a bit cheeky. Meanwhile, he could not live off air alone. When he got hungry he screamed with so much fervor he interrupted his uncle Gervais during his brooding. 

Gervais was an older brother of Stace’s father. He had a lot to think about, because for thirty-three years he had been servant of the king. He had polished the silver buckles on the shoes of the king, brushed his coat, warned his coachman to put the horses before the carriage, and more of those kinds of things. In several days his king, his brother and his sister-in-law had all died. Perhaps he would have decided to take his own life as well, if Stace had not reminded him of duty.  
Gervais sighed, went to town to buy milk, a bottle and a pacifier and got the little boy, to the best of his abilities, to drink. When all the funerals were over he decided to take the child with him to his small house behind the palace. Thus Stace grew up with his uncle. 

The old man had kept his job. The ministers used the palace for meetings and he now brushed the coat of minister Prestean and opened the door for the inrushing minister Vighor. Gervais was an obliging man. His whole life he had handed hats, spoken with two words and made himself scarce when needed. He was incredibly nauseous of his own subservience, but was unable to do anything about it. When he understood he had to raise a small boy into a man, he intended for one thing: the man Stace would not be a meek man but an outspoken, bold if need be. Hence Gervais only scolded his nephew when he was shy, only punished him when he was unwilling to say something, and for the rest the boy could do what he wanted.

 

Years passed and still the ministers had not appointed a new king. Nobody in Catora believed it would ever come of it. One night Gervais had a remarkable dream. He dreamt he was sitting in an armchair next to the throne. He was very old and leaned comfortably back in the chair. There was an attendant who was lighting his pipe for him and there were pretty girls who waved him cold air with a fan.  
Next to him he saw the knees of the king. Had the old king returned from the dead or was it a new one? He had to see the face. With the effort of all power his worn neck could provide he raised his head. His eyes slid past the body of the king up and look at that, it was Stace .  
Gervais thought about his dream for a long time. The boy had been born the night the king had died. He seemed brave, determined, honest. Gervais was more and more convinced that Stace had to be the next king of Catora.


	2. The Death of a King, part 2

The oldest minister is called Staern. He is about sixty years old. Deep folds give his face a worrisome appearance. He never laughs. Only fifteen hairs still grow on his bald head. Every morning minister Staern places them carefully in their positions. It’s his only unnecessary activity, aside from that he only does the most serious things. This gentleman is , of course, minister of Solemnity. Immediately after the death of the king he changed all laws concerning fireworks. All fireworks are now illegal. Minister Stern is an advocate of Work Ethic and Devotion to Duty. 

One morning, seventeen years after the passing of the king, minister Staern is sitting in his office in the palace. Excessive sunshine charges through the window, so that the politician stands up and closes the luxaflex.   
Someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” calls minister Staern. It appears to be his colleague, minister Fortrite, the minister of Honesty.

“Am I interrupting?” minister Fortrite asks with his quiet voice.

“Not at all, Fortrite, take a seat.”

When both men have talked about important politics for a while, the minister of Honesty says:  
“This morning I discovered that the old Gervais has worked in the palace for fifty years. Thirty-three years for the king, seventeen for us.”

“Hmm,” Says minister Staern.

“It seems appropriate,” minister Fortrite continues, “that we commemorate it with a small celebration.” 

Something like that isn’t appreciated by a minister of Solemnity. “Celebrations are a danger to work ethics and devotion to duty. Come up with something else, Fortrite.”

“A knighthood?”

“That seems excellent to me.”

They agree that Gervais will become Squire in the order of the Catorian Bison. Minister Staern presses a button and the old servant appears a little later. 

“What may I do for you, Excellency?” Gervais asks.  
“Nothing,” minister Staern says. “We want to do something for you for a change, Gervais. The minister of Honesty has reminded me you have been in service of the palace for fifty years. Have you thought about it yourself?”

“Y-yes, Excellency,” Gervais stammers, very bashful.

“We have decided to knight you a Squire of the Catorian Bison. What do you think of that?”

I have no need for your decorations, Gervais thinks, but he says:  
“I don’t know what to say, this is too much.”

“Not at all,” minister Fortrite says cheerfully. “you have deserved it.”

“Is there something else we could do for you?” Staern asks.

“yes,” Gervais answers, at the surprise of both men. “I would appreciate it if you would receive my nephew Stace.”

“Your nephew Stace?”

“Seventeen years ago, in the night the king died, he was born. The next morning my brother fell to his death from the St. Aloysius. Three days later my sister-in-law passed away from illness. Since that day on I have cared for the child with my lacking ways.”

“You’ve never said anything about that.”

Gervais stays silent. Have the ministers ever asked him anything?

“Why do you want us to receive your nephew so badly?”

Timidly, Gervais turns his skullcap around in his hands.  
“He wants it himself,” he stammers. “he has something to ask of you.”

“I’m sorry,” minister Staern says. “I have no time for visits of seventeen year old boys. You probably don’t either, Fortrite?”

Minister Fortrite doesn’t want to, too, but he can’t lie. “Let him come tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” he says. “I’ll speak to him.”

“Thank you, Excellency. Good day, Excellencies.” The Squire in the order of the Catorian Bison turns around and leaves the room.


	3. The Death of a King, part 3

And that’s how Stace sits opposite to minister Fortrite the next morning. 

Minister Fortrite has a hard life. He manages the ministry of Honesty, and you can tell from his face how difficult that is. His lower lip is always raw because he keeps biting it out of anxiety. Often he closes his eyes for a moment to consider if he is speaking the full truth. For years he worried if you should address your letters with ‘dear sir’ if the man isn’t dear to you at all. He once tried it with ‘annoying weasel’ but that caused a lot of troubles. Currently he doesn’t address his letters with anything. That’s going better.   
Also at home minister Fortrite has it difficult. Constantly he catches his wife and children telling small untruths. Two of his sons have gone studying abroad. 

“So you are a nephew of Gervais” says minister Fortrite.

“Yes, excellency,” Stace answers. Unabashed he looks the minister in the eye. 

“And you had something to ask?”

“Minister Fortrite,” Stace says, “for seventeen years the ministers have had the time to appoint a new king. Still nothing has come of it. I came to ask you what someone has to do to become king of Catora.”

The minister of Honesty is dumbstruck. Not once has somebody dared to asked this. He closes his eyes and thinks.

“If you had asked this question to the minister of Diligence, you would have been beheaded ten minutes later.”

“Why?” Stace asks, surprised.

“Because the question implies you disapprove of our policy.”

“But I do,” Stace says.

“Outrageous!”

“I thought you would appreciate honesty.”

“Listen, my boy, I’ll try to forget what you have said. Ask me something else now, something innocuous, so that I can deliver that innocuous question to my colleagues without a heavy conscience. Then go home and never say such awful things again.”

“Minister Fortrite,” Stace says, “I request you to present this question to the cabinet: How can I become king of Catora?”

“This will be your death sentence!”

“I have something to add. I’ve called all newspapers and told them what I would ask. There’s a small army of journalists at the palace gates. They’re very eager to hear the answer. Don’t you think it would look careless if my head on a stick is the only response?”

Minister Fortrite grits his teeth. He is amazed that that shy Gervais has such a rude nephew. For not a moment he suspects this boy will become a serious threat to the cabinet. But he is afraid of the newspapers. They’re quick as lightning to report even the smallest untruth he says with big headlines.

“I’ll present your question to the cabinet,” he says reluctantly. “then you’ll hear, in due course. Was that all?”

“Yes, excellency.”

“Good day then.”

Stace leaves and reports his conversation to the journalists. 

Worried, minister Fortrite stays behind. His lower lip has to suffer substantially for it.

 

Weeks pass, without Stace hearing any news. From uncle Gervais he learns that the cabinet is meeting frequently and that the gentlemen don’t appear to agree with each other. He nor his uncle know that two ministers want to exile him to a foreign country, two others want him to be decapitated and the other two ministers want him to complete seven difficult challenges.

“That’s how it goes in countless of legends,” minister Fortrite says. “It will satisfy the feeling of justice with the people.”

“And,” minister Prestean adds, “it’s easy enough to come up with seven tasks so difficult the first one has him crying for his uncle.”

Minister Vighor thinks this all far too tedious. He likes to get things done quickly. For that he’s minister of Diligence. 

“Don’t discuss it for long, off with his head,” he says, while he’s noting the words of him and his colleagues in a small book with high speed. He gets support from minister Canston, but Staern and Virtu are for banishment.   
Finally, after weeks, when it becomes clear they’ll never agree, they decide to draw. 

They call for Gervais.

“Bring a die,” minister Staern orders.   
Gervais, who feels it’s about Stace, anxiously brings a die in a leather cup.

“One or two is his head,” Staern says. “three or four is exile, five or six is tasks.”

With trembling hands the old man shakes the cup. Then he places the cup reversed on the table. He lacks the courage to raise it.   
It takes far too long, in minister Vighor’s opinion. Quickly he raises the cup.

“A six,” he says. “that means the boy will get his seven tasks. Staern, I’ll gladly let you devise the first one. You’ll come up with something that’ll change his mind. I have to give a lecture about the life of the ants, bye.” He disappears. The other ministers are getting up, too.

“Tell your nephew that will come to me tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” minister Staern tells Gervais.  
The old man nods delighted. He hurries home as fast as his arthritic legs can manage.


End file.
